iNeed Love and Pork
by drano
Summary: When Sam buys a piglet that she intends to eat, it causes some problems between her and her friends. But the chance at pork chops isn't the only thing on Sam's mind.
1. Chapter 1

**iNeed Love and Pork**

--

"Hey," Carly said as Sam walked into the Shay's kitchen.

"What's cooking?" Sam asked, leaning over the counter.

"Spencer's sculpture mold, if you really want to know," Carly gestured at the bubbling pot that Sam was suspiciously eying up. "It's not edible," she added.

"That's a tragedy ofstarving children proportions," Sam muttered as she made for the refrigerator, "But no worries, that's why Edison invented the cheese stick."

Carly gave her best friend a bemused expression. "Thomas Edison didn't invent the cheese stick."

"Mell, he smoud hav—" Sam managed between mouthfuls.

Carly laughed. "So what's this urgent news you wanted to tell me?"

"Ugh, I nearly forgot—" Sam said.

"—Tends to happen when food is involved—"

To Carly's surprise, Sam only smiled. "Funny that you should put it like that."

"I don't like that smile. That's your manipulative smile."

Sam did her best imitation of an innocent face as she pointed to herself. "Me? Manipulative?"

"Okay, so what's going on?" Carly asked, striving for a stern tone.

"First, ankle shake."

Carly backed up against the counter. "Okay, now I'm scared."

"Relax," Sam laughed, "It's just a perfectly harmless binding contract that you can't get out of under pain of death … Oh come on, just shake already."

"Just tell me what it is we're shaking on."

"Shake." Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Only as long as it doesn't involve computers, grades, or anything else illegal."

"Shake." Sam repeated and brought up a spatula.

"Don't you threaten me with a spatula!"

"Well don't force me to threaten you with a spatula!"

"Just tell me what's going on!"

"All right, already! Geez, don't get so confrontational." Sam tossed the spatula into the sink and whistled with her fingers. "Hey, Freddie! Front and center!"

There was a slight pause before the door at the opposite end of the apartment opened and Freddie stepped in, carrying a squirming—

"Pig! Please tell me that's not a pig!" Carly exclaimed.

Freddie froze in the middle of petting the bundle with a confused expression. "Okay … it's not a pig."

"Don't lie to me!" Carly shouted.

"But—" Freddie started, but Sam stepped in and set the pig down on the ground with its leash in hand.

"Actually, the correct term is piglet." Sam said as the pig began sniffing along the carpet to Carly's foot, where it promptly sat down and made snuffling sounds up at her. "Aw, look. I think he likes you."

"His name's Pinky," Freddie supplied, large smile recovered.

"Pinky?" Sam's head twitched as she slowly looked over at iCarly's technical producer. "Pinky?"

"What's wrong with Pinky?" Freddie asked defensively.

"You named _it_ already?" Sam asked in exasperation.

"What's wrong with naming _him _already?" Freddie asked.

"Because you don't name something that you intend to eat!" Carly hotly supplied.

"What?" Freddie looked over at Sam in horror. "You said that you got Pinky for a science project you and Carly were going to do!"

Sam shrugged. "And your parents told you that you weren't an accident. Big deal."

"So you do intend to—to … nutrition-alize him!" Carly folded her arms and tried not to look down as Pinky pawed at her leg and made nauseatingly cute oinking noises.

"Why else would I bring a Somalian-bred potbellied pig into your apartment?" Sam asked.

"Somalian? How did you get a Somalian pig in the first place?" Carly asked.

"Ebay." Sam said as if it were obvious. "The one website that can make any kind of miracle come true." Her eyes looked misty for a moment.

"No way. No way am I going to let an adorable little piglet live here just so you can fatten it up and eat it!" Carly shouted.

"Him. Pinky is a _him_." Freddie interjected. "And why can't you just keep _him _at your house?"

"Sorry," Sam put her hand up. "This is a dork free conversation."

"Yeah, why can't you just keep him at _your_ house?" Carly repeated.

Sam sighed. "Because the manual said that a stable environment was best. And my mom and the word stable don't belong in the same _paragraph_ together."

There was a quiet moment.

"He came with instructions?" Freddie broke the silence.

"Yeah, you two have a lot in common," Sam retorted.

Freddie pursed his lips and looked away, but didn't say anything.

Carly groaned, bending down to pick up Pinky. To her horror, it proceeded to snuggle. "Aww," she groaned again.

Sam smiled and patted Carly's shoulder and Pinky's head. "So it's settled then."

"No, it's not," Carly shoved Pinky into Sam's arms. "I will not be part of an ethical issue that involves food that snuggles. Besides …" she added, "It's against building regulations," lamely.

"Oh, come on Carls!" Sam started.

"Wait, wait, I'll do it!" Freddie blurted.

"Huh?" both girls turned towards him in surprise.

"Freddie—it's against building regulations," Carly repeated.

"Your mom freaked when you tried to get a hamster—Do you _want_ to put her in the hospital?" Sam made motions with her hands at him like she was trying to communicate astrophysics using sign language.

"What she doesn't know can't hurt her." Freddie shrugged.

"Fredward Benson!" Carly exclaimed.

"Great, it's settled then." Sam shrugged as she set Pinky back on the floor. "But I'm not going to be responsible for any medical bills."

"Don't worry, it'll be fine." Freddie said in a tone that might have been a little too placating.

Sam's skeptical/suspicious look stuck for a moment. "Whatever. All this arguing is making me hungry." She made a beeline for the refrigerator. "Got any of that bacon left?"

Carly threw her hands up in exasperation. "Have you no shame?"

"Sure," Sam said as she broke off a piece of bacon with her teeth, "Lots of it."

When Sam turned back to the refrigerator, apparently preoccupied for the moment, Carly reached over for a handful of Freddie's collar and dragged him over to a corner.

"Freddie, are you crazy? You can't do this!" she whisper shouted at him.

"Sure I can," Freddie said, holding his hands up as she continued to protest, "Listen, I've got it all planned out. The longer we have Pinky around, the more likely Sam will grow too attached to him. She's not completely cold hearted after all ... we just have to give it some time."

"Hey, Carls, do you have anymore of that ham?" Sam called from the kitchen.

Carly gave Freddie a dubious look. "Just how much time do we have until Pinky's ready for Sam's skillet?"

"A couple months …" he made a vague gesture with his hands, "I think … hope."

"Well, we'll come up with something else if it doesn't look like it's working," Carly said.

"Right." Freddie nodded and smiled.

They walked back out into the living room.

"Well, I think I'll just go and take Pinky over to my apartment now," Freddie said in an exaggerated voice as he picked Pinky up and headed for the door.

"You do that," Sam frowned. She waited until the door had closed behind him. "Hey, have you noticed anything weird about our dork lately?"

"What do you mean?" Carly asked as she walked back into the kitchen.

Sam shrugged uneasily. "I don't know. Has he been volunteering to do a bunch of stuff for you lately?" She paused and then rolled her eyes. "I mean more often and more annoyingly than usual?"

Carly thought for a moment. "Nope, not really."

"What were you two talking about a second ago anyway?"

"Oh," Carly tried to nonchalantly lean against the counter, "Nothing, nothing at all."

"Uh huh." Sam looked about as convinced as she sounded. "Welp, anyway, I should probably go make sure Freddie didn't lose my pig on the way to his place."

They said goodbye and Sam stepped outside. But she came up short when she discovered a scowling Freddie waiting for her.

"Where's my pig?" she asked.

"Don't you mean, _'Where's my pig that I'm going to eat and not use in a science project like I said?'_" Freddie asked.

Sam folded her arms. "So what's the deal? Why are you volunteering for this? Huh?"

"Why did you lie to me?" Freddie demanded.

"Because you wouldn't have brought him over if I hadn't?" Sam put her shoulders up as though it were obvious. "Seriously, who doubled your sensitivity pills this morning? Aw, is it that time of month already?"

Freddie folded his arms and stared back at her.

Sam shifted her feet. "So … why? I want to know."

"Because Pinky has to stay somewhere, and you know if my mom does find him and kick him out, Carly will feel guilty and take him in anyway." Freddie explained simply.

Sam smirked. "Ah, I like the way you think." She slugged him good-naturedly on the shoulder—or at least what she hoped would seem good-naturedly to him. "All right then, I'd love to stick around, but I've gotta run. Here's the stuff on what he needs to eat and whatnot." She handed him a wadded bundle of papers from her back pocket. "If you have any questions..." She loosely held up her hands as she backed away. "... Don't call. Try the Internet, NerdNet … or something …"

"Great," he said emotionlessly.

"Have fun," she tried.

But he was already walking back into his apartment.

--

**AN: **This is probably the funnest-to-write-thing I've done to date. At least within the top three.


	2. Chapter 2

--

"Okay," Spencer said with a groan, "I've learned that trying to construct a fifty foot long sculpture does _not_ work well indoors."

"Really?" Carly asked sarcastically as she struggled to hold up the long plank she was in charge of. The Shay's apartment was currently occupied end to end by Spencer's latest sculpture, an odd and elevated series of planks 'artistically' connected to each other in his attempt to break the state's record for the longest raised sculpture. "This stuff weighs a ton. Why did you have to use plaster for the lengths anyway?"

Spencer took a deep breath, held it, frowned, and let it back out.

"I don't know."

"Well, it's slipping," Carly looked over her shoulder, "Maybe if you open the door we can use the hallway to attach the last segment."

"Good idea," Spencer ran to the door and opened it, then ran back to the beginning where he was attaching the segments. "Okay, I'm going to have to push it forward a bit to—"

Carly yelped as the entire contraption that was spanning their apartment lurched forward several feet, the end knocking into the door opposite theirs in the hallway once, then twice.

Spencer leaned over to look down its length with a hesitant expression. "Are we good?"

Carly leaned over as well to make sure the Benson door was still intact. "You're good."

"Okay," Spencer clapped his hands together, "Just one more small jerk and we should have it. Contact?"

"Contact!" Carly shut her eyes.

"One—two—"

"Hello?" Freddie's voice came from the opposite side of the hallway.

"Three!" Spencer shouted and the whole sculpture jerked several feet again, punctuated by a loud cry from both ends.

Freddie staggered into the apartment clutching his head.

Spencer leaned back against the counter, also holding his, "I think I hit my head."

Freddie smiled goofily as he dropped down onto the sofa. "I think Spencer hit his head."

Carly let go of the sculpture and ran over to him. "Freddie, are you all right? Speak to me, Freddie! Say something!"

Freddie looked up at her through unfocused eyes. "I love you?"

Spencer started laughing while clutching his own head. "See, he's fine. I guess I didn't actually hit my head that hard either—"

Pinky ran into the apartment, snorting happily as he sat down on Carly's foot.

Spencer stopped laughing. "I think I'm going to lay down now."

"Here, let me get some ice," Carly ran to the freezer with Pinky in tow, "Quit you nutty little pig! You're supposed to stay at Freddie's place!"

"Oh yeah, _he can stay at Freddie's place_," Freddie mimicked in a high voice. "That thing is more demanding than Sam is! Mocha baths at three, a manicure every day, eight square meals … the thing eats better than I do!"

"How are you keeping it away from your—" Carly came up short with the ice pack. "Freddie—are you crying?"

"No," Freddie sniffed rather pathetically, "I'm fine."

"Well, now," Carly kneeled down and dabbed at the rising bump on Freddie's forehead, "I'm sure a knock to the melon like that could probably make anyone emotional."

"It's just not fair." Freddie fell back into the sofa.

"What isn't?" Carly asked carefully. "Freddie, have you been feeling all right lately?"

"It's just—just that—" Freddie hesitated and seemed to switch tracks, "Oh, I don't think he likes me very much."

Carly jerked backwards. "_He_?"

"He—as in Pinky," Freddie gestured vaguely at the piglet, sniffling again.

"Oh—_sure he does_," Carly said in an embellished motherly tone as she bent to scoop up Pinky and put him in Freddie's lap, "See? He just loves—you—so—very—much—Stay still you loony piglet!"

But Pinky was squealing and doing his best to stay in Carly's arms. A minute more of jostling protests from Freddie and persistence from Carly saw Pinky on Freddie's lap, albeit perhaps a bit too reluctantly.

"Aw, see …" Carly tried, but retreated from the clearly unconvinced look Freddie shot her. She turned to the segment of Spencer's sculpture she'd been holding—the one that was standing on its own. "Oh, glad to see I was so useful!"

"You'd just better make sure that thing is out of the hallway by the time my mom comes home," Freddie began but froze as a strange look came over his face. "Carly?"

"Yeah?"

"I think the pig that loves me so very much just peed on me. Let me check," Freddie shifted slightly on the sofa, "Yup. He did."

"Oh, here," Carly took Pinky off of Freddie's lap as he stiffly stood up and started for the door.

"Let me just—" Carly began.

"No! No!" Freddie rigidly held up his arms. "I said I was going to do this, and I'm going to do this, even if it—" His nose abruptly wrinkled and he jerked his head back. "Ugh! It reeks! Just … set him inside the door."

Carly pursed her lips and followed Freddie to his door. She set Pinky inside the Benson apartment as Freddie made sure he didn't get back out.

"Good luck," Carly said sympathetically.

Freddie only frowned before he carefully closed the door.

Carly sighed and walked back into her apartment, ducking under the end of the "sculpture" still sticking through their open door. She had just sat down on the sofa when Freddie's door opened again and he leaned his head out.

"Hey, when did you say that you were—"

But with a triumphant squeal, Pinky burst through the Benson's door, through the Shay's open door, across the room, and happily into Carly's lap.

Carly gave Freddie an unenthused look. "This is going to be a problem."

--

**AN**: Meh, not my favorite chapter. But thanks for all great reviews so far.


	3. Chapter 3

--

Sam looked up from her locker. "Hey, how was your weekend?"

Carly glared back at her.

"So … worse than usual …?" Sam flinched when Carly angrily flicked a strand of frazzled hair back. "I guess I'll try again later. Welp, don't want to be late for English—" She turned and managed a quick two steps before Carly obtained a fistful of her—

"Hair—hair—hair—" Sam yelped as she obliged and returned to her locker. "Okay, chill! Is this about Pinky?"

"_Is this about Pinky_?" Carly tilted her head and mimicked crossly. "No, it's about that other adorable farm animal that you dumped on me and intend to gorge on!"

"Gorge?" Sam asked, confused.

"Eat!"

"Oh … so what's the problem?" Sam gave a confused shrug. "I thought he was going to be staying at Freddie's."

"He is. The problem is that he would much rather stay at _my_ place. I also spent most of my entire weekend helping Freddie keep him from his mom, and the rest was spent doing the crazy things that you wrote down in the 'instructional manual!' Mocha baths? Are you serious?"

"Hey, don't blame me if pigs like their mud substitutes smooth and warm." Sam paused a moment and frowned. "Then again, I don't know if that online Somalian translator was working all that well, maybe he just needs plain water."

"Well, that's a relief," Carly said sarcastically, "Now we've got twenty pounds of mocha that we don't need and the knowledge that we went through the whole breaking-it-to-Mrs.-Benson-that-Freddie's-suddenly-massively-addicted-to-caffeinated-beverages thing for nothing."

Sam smirked. "I would've paid good money to see that."

"Sam, this is serious! It's driving all three of us insane!"

"Three? Why are you counting Pinky?" Sam asked.

"Well, it's not going to be pretty when I have to break it to him that his mocha baths are out, is it?" Carly paused for a minute. "But that's the second time you've called him Pinky."

"Yeah, I guess the little fella is starting to grow on me," Sam frowned, "In a long distance—from-Freddie's-place sort of way."

"Aww," Carly said.

"I just hope he grows a little faster, 'cause I'm not taking him under anything below a hundred and twenty-five pounds."

"Aww, Sam …" Carly groaned.

"What, did you actually think that Freddie's whole 'wait for me to become attached' plan would work?" Sam laughed.

Carly gasped half theatrically, "You listened in on us!"

"No," Sam looked hurt for a moment, "Well, actually I did, but that's beside the point. You think that I couldn't smell one of Freddie's plans from a mile away? They smell almost as bad as he does. And speaking of which …"

Freddie stepped up behind Sam. "Sup."

"Impressive?" Sam asked and smirked at Carly.

"Very," she responded, sounding roughly the opposite of impressed.

"So are you laying the guilt trip?" Freddie asked Carly.

"Laying," she replied, "Unfortunately, the doctors forgot to order guilt when _the stork brought her_!"

"The one she tried to eat?" Freddie added as he folded his arms.

"Okay, okay, geez, I can take a hint," Sam rolled her eyes, "You can bring the little guy over to my place after school. Happy?"

"Uh, well actually …" Carly looked down as she toed the floor.

"That uh …" Freddie started and ended almost as unspectacularly as she had.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," Sam looked at them both with an exasperated yet unsurprised expression, "You both have become too hopelessly attached to him for that."

Sam and Freddie glanced at each other, and then back at Sam. "Yes!" they cried at the same time.

"How can anyone stand it?" Carly wailed. "With his floppy ears—and—and his tiny little snout and—and—"

"Little curly tail—" Freddie moaned.

"Please don't eat him!" they both said together.

Sam stood still for a moment. "Eh …" she shrugged, "I'll think about it. Who knows, maybe Freddie's genius plan will turn out in the long run. Speaking of brains, that looks painful." She pointed at the bruise on Freddie's forehead as the bell began to ring.

"It is—Ow!" Freddie exclaimed as Sam flicked it.

"See ya in class," Sam laughed as she left.

--

**AN**: Thanks for all the great and helpful reviews everyone. I think one of my problems is that I'm getting too bogged down in the dialog, trying to make it funny.


	4. Chapter 4

--

Freddie leaned back as nonchalantly as he could as Miss Briggs droned on at the front of the class. He made a hissing noise at Sam, only to look back and find that she had her head resting on her desk.

"Don't move—" she muttered sleepily, "You'll block my view."

"Hey!" Freddie whispered back at her.

"This better be good," Sam sent a bleary glance across to Carly, but the other girl only shrugged her shoulders and looked back up at Miss Briggs.

Freddie also turned back towards the front just as Miss Briggs looked over the class. He stiffened for a moment, and by the time Miss Briggs returned to the blackboard, the topic he'd had in mind seemed dumb. "Nothing."

There was an unusually long pause behind him. He was just beginning to think that she had gone back to sleep when she spoke.

"Nothing? You interrupted my precious moments of education for nothing?" She didn't sound particularly upset.

"Right," he smiled slightly and craned his head back the best he could so he could whisper back at her, "It looked like you were getting loads of productive time in back there."

"Hey," her voice abruptly shifted over to his left shoulder, "If you lean just right I bet I could nail Gibby from here."

He didn't have to see to know that she'd already armed herself from her desk's cache of paper footballs, which were actually among the more harmless items she stocked.

"Sam!" came Carly's piqued whisper from his left.

He smirked as he kept his eyes on Miss Briggs' writing. "There's no way you could from here."

"There's no way you've got the guts to move aside and let me, Benson."

"Is that a bet, _Puckett_?" Freddie threw emphasis on her last name.

"Only if you bet that I can't hit him from here," Sam shot back.

"Freddie, don't!" Carly hissed, motioning towards the front with her eyes.

"Oh, you're so on." Freddie put his hand over his left shoulder to shake, feeling his heart beat faster as he checked the Briggs timing, just how far exactly it was to Gibby's desk—not that he actually had anything against Gibby—and the—

His hand was still hanging in the air over his shoulder. He raised it up and down, simulating the motions of shaking hands, but still there was nothing. He grew uncomfortable as he tried to peek around to see what was happening, but Sam had evidently leaned back in her seat. Pulling his hand back, he was about to ask her whether she had a change of heart when a blur shot by the corner of his eye, followed by a resounding snap.

Gibby leapt to his feet and jabbed a finger at Sam, but quickly shifted it over to Freddie. "Foul!"

"What?" Freddie suddenly discovered that there was a rubber band on his desk.

"Gibby!" Miss Briggs gave her traditional retort, only to come up short at the sight of the rubber band on Freddie's desk.

"He snapped me with a rubber band!" Gibby cried indignantly.

"But I—" Freddie sputtered as everything grew hot. He whipped around to find Carly staring open mouthed at Sam, who was leaning back in her desk with her arms crossed and a stormy expression on her face.

"Mr. Benson, you know that there will be absolutely no horseplay tolerated in this classroom!" Miss Briggs started.

"Yeah!" Gibby rejoined.

"Gibby!" Miss Briggs snapped.

Gibby quickly sat back down in his seat, huffily rubbing at the red splotch on his neck and glowering at Freddie.

"Now march yourself straight to Principle Franklin's office, pron-to!" Miss Briggs clapped her hands with each syllable.

There was an odd sort of sound coming from the back of his throat. He turned one more time to Carly, who looked like she was trying to say something to Miss Briggs but was still too taken aback to manage it. Sam hadn't moved.

Getting up angrily, he started walking before Carly could say anything and left the room with his ears burning.

--

**AN:** I just now realized that I wrote this from a first person perspective, which is necessary I think, but it's odd because I went through such _conscious _lengths to keep this story in third person, to keep the story _out of _their heads, but yet _unconsciously _did this in first person. Weird.

And I keep thinking that the next chapter will be longer, but they just keep getting shorter. But don't worry, the next one will be a little longer. I made sure--twice.


	5. Chapter 5

--

Spencer was putting the finishing touches on the head of clay he was painting with mocha in the living room. "That's what _I_ said. _She_ was the one who obviously had some sort of problem with polka and disco. What's that?" He leaned in closer to the face he was dabbling coffee beans on. "Uh huh, you are so right. Dates off of the Internet have no taste." He began laughing to himself until he looked down at the mocha face. Eyeing it up carefully and wetting his lips, he glanced furtively over his shoulder, then leaned in slowly with his tongue extended to—

Spencer jerked his head back and made a disgusted sound. "You're all the same!" He carefully set his paintbrush down on the coffee table and stepped back.

The sounds of Carly and Sam's heated voices came from the hallway.

"Uh oh," Spencer murmured to his mocha sculpture.

"Oh, that's rich, I'm sure that's just a _wonderful_ excuse!" Carly said as she and Sam came through the door. She punctuated the sentence by slamming the door shut.

"Works fine for me!" Sam opened the door and slammed it again.

Spencer blinked and quietly sat down next to his sculpture on the sofa.

"Yeah, I bet it would have to, since you've never done a minute of work in your life!" Carly opened the door and slammed it again.

"Oh, that's low," Sam jabbed her finger and slammed the door as well, "You can't bring my other character flaws into this!"

"Well I just did, you skunk bag!"

Spencer gasped and threw his hands over his mocha sculpture's ears.

Sam sputtered for a moment. "Now you've hit rock bottom, woman! Rock bottom! _That _was low!"

"Not as low as getting Freddie put into detention!"

"He had it coming!" Sam came back angrily.

"Don't start that again!" Carly shouted. "You know how lame that is!"

Spencer leaned back into the sofa slowly, his eyes still on the pair as he picked a mocha bean off of his sculpture and absently put it in his mouth.

"What's wrong with you lately?" Sam asked in exasperation.

Spencer chewed, frowned, looked down, and then spit the bean out of his mouth, gagging.

"What's wrong with me?" Carly yelled as she opened the door, "What's wrong with you?" and slammed it again.

"Oh no, you're the one that's been acting weird ever since Freddie started acting weird," Sam paused and then shrugged, "See, Freddie starts everything."

"Oh yeah," Carly rolled her eyes, "So he was the one that made you start picking on him? When did this happen?"

Sam frowned and shook her head. "Birth?" She hesitated, her face going hard again. "Why are you suddenly so defensive of him? He can handle himself. Why don't you tell me what's really going on between you two. You know you don't have to keep it from me."

"What?" Carly asked angrily. "There's nothing going on between us! You know what you are? You're just a crazy—misguided—slacker!"

"Oh yeah!" Sam rejoined. "Slacker isn't even an insult!" She opened the door and slammed it.

"A slacker who spends more time in the principal's office than she does in class!" Carly continued.

"Wait—" Sam came up short, and for a serious moment made confused motions with her hand, "Aren't we still having an argument?"

There was a knock at the door.

Carly threw the door open. "What?"

Freddie was hesitantly standing in the doorway with Pinky in his arms. "If this is a bad time—"

Carly slammed the door shut. She glanced angrily at Sam, and then back at the door, which she quickly reopened with a sheepish expression. "Sorry … reflex."

Freddie nodded slightly as he looked up at the ceiling. "Oh … I didn't know you had company. I just need to drop Pinky off, I'll be back in a couple hours." He let Pinky down on the floor, and the piglet quickly scrambled across the room and into Spencer's relatively safe lap. "And don't worry, I'll close the _detention_—whoops, I mean _door_," he said in an overstated voice as he left.

Sam rolled her eyes. "He's so smooth."

"No," Carly started, "He's so in need of an apology."

"I don't get what you two are freaking out about," Sam said, "It's not as if Freddie's never gotten a detention before. Who knows, maybe a few more will put hair on his chest." She snickered. "Or maybe his legs."

"Yeah, but he's never gotten a detention for _no reason_, for something he _didn't do_."

Sam crossed her arms. "I'm not apologizing to the dweeb, so you might as well drop it."

"Well if you feel about it that way, I don't think you should be here!"

Pinky turned away from the shouting and snuggled in closer to Spencer's chest. Spencer patted his head sympathetically. "You're the root of all evil."

"Fine, I don't think I want to be here!" Sam shot back.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Why don't you just leave then?" Carly shouted.

"Oh, I am!" Sam started for the door.

"Oh, not nearly fast enough for me!" Carly called after her.

"It wouldn't be!" Sam snapped as she went out the door.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Carly shouted just as Sam slammed the door. She turned towards Spencer.

Sam opened the door, "Fine!" and slammed it again.

"Uh!" Carly balled her fists. "That Puckett girl is so childish! Just has to have the last word!" She marched to the door, opened it, and threw another "Fine!" down the hallway, but a distant "Fine!" echoed back. "Ugh! She boils my turnip!" Carly slammed the door one more time.

The bottom two hinges fell apart and clattered to the floor. The rest of the door came free and was left to swing awkwardly in the frame.

"Don't worry … I've been meaning to fix that." But Spencer quickly turned his head away when Carly turned her glare on him.

--


	6. Chapter 6

--

Spencer came down the stairs whistling a public domain tune. But he hesitated when he spied Freddie sitting on the Shay's sofa with Pinky next to him. As he watched, Freddie pulled up a scooper with a heavy wad of chocolate ice cream and took a bite off one side. After a moment, he leaned it over slightly for Pinky to lick at.

Giving himself a knowing smile, Spencer proceeded over and plopped down next to Freddie. "So … thing's not going so well, Fredster?" Freddie lolled his head over, and Spencer jumped at his morose look. "Oh ... I see …"

Freddie turned back to the television and narrowed his eyes. "Have you ever had something that you tried at every day, but it never seemed like you got anywhere?'

Spencer thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Really?" Freddie looked over at him. "How did you solve it?"

"I graduated."

"Oh," Freddie sighed, "Never mind."

"Well," Spencer shrugged his shoulders, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Freddie gave him a critical up-and-down look. "Not really."

"Oh," Spencer smiled even more knowingly and looked up at the ceiling, "So who's the lucky girl?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Freddie said a little thickly. He looked down at the ice cream bowl as Pinky began to nudge him, "Sorry boy, that was the last of it."

With a snort, Pinky cleared Freddie and leaped into Spencer's lap.

"Traitor." Freddie shook his head and then held it. "I need yogurt."

"We're all out," Spencer said.

"Oh," Freddie made a face, "So _she _was here already."

"Yeah," Spencer looked at the empty ice cream bowl, "She worked the morning shift."

"Those little corn chip things?" Freddie asked hopefully, holding up his fingers to indicate the size.

"Vaporized," Spencer replied. "So … Can I at least get a hint about this lucky lass in question?"

"I didn't say this was about a girl," Freddie said.

"Please?"

"No."

"Just a teensy hint?"

"No!"

"Is she related to me?" Spencer asked.

"Oh, all right," Freddie groaned, "Yes … and no."

"Yes and … no … " Spencer stared off into space.

"It's not just about her," Freddie explained.

"You player!" Spencer exclaimed as he jabbed his finger. "... I'm impressed. So that means that you're having doubts about liking my little sister …?"

"Well," Freddie glanced around, "All right, let's say that this guy, A, has always liked B because she's … well, incredible, beautiful, smart, funny, ugh … with great hair and—"

"But—" Spencer broke in impatiently.

"But then A went on vacation last summer and met C, who was all right, but she made A feel guilty about even thinking about liking C when he should really be thinking only about B, because that's who he really likes—"

"But—" Spencer said as he leaned forward.

"But D, who's C's best friend, who A can't stand, really started to like A, and since C and D are best friends, C thought A was crazy for even liking her—"

"But—" Spencer said distractedly as he groped off to the side for a notepad.

Freddie sighed. "I guess the whole point is that A isn't quite so sure he likes B as much anymore, even though he feels like he should, and kinda still does of course, but … he's not as sure."

"Uh huh," Spencer finished jotting down his notes after a moment, "Continue."

Freddie put his hands over his eyes. "Then there's R, who's the whole problem."

"R?" Spencer asked as he scanned down his notepad. "S wants to know where R came in."

"She's always _been in_," Freddie rolled his eyes, "But A didn't even think it was possible before … it was just kind of this funny thing to think about."

"S knows what A means," Spencer nodded sympathetically.

Freddie frowned. "You know you don't have to do that."

"But it's so much fun."

"Anyway," Freddie shook his head, "R is … different. That's why she's R. And she's … R. She's special … but difficult. But lately, because things have been different, even thinking about R makes A even more guilty about B. Because it suddenly seemed possible, or at least almost. But that doesn't matter because R doesn't want anything to do with A … Spencer?"

Spencer sniffed. "Yeah I'm okay, just got something caught in my eye."

Freddie paused for a minute. "And there's this stuff with Pinky and Sam."

"I see," Spencer wiped at his eyes, "Well, if I was to tell A what I thought about it, I would just say that he shouldn't worry about owing the rest of the alphabet something. He should just do his best with how he feels."

"What are you guys talking about?" Carly asked as she came down the stairs.

"Nothing!" Spencer said a little too loudly as he quickly tossed the notepad under the chair beside him.

"Yeah, uh, Spencer just needed some help with his … algebra homework." Freddie immediately winced.

"Yeah, that almost works," Carly rolled her eyes as she made her way to the fridge, "You know I can leave if you guys really want to make man talk. I—oh yeah, _she_ was here this morning, for ten whole minutes. Guess we need to get groceries again!"

"Hey, I was thinking," Spencer called out to the kitchen, "If we claim her as a semi dependant, I think we might be eligible for food stamps."

Carly glared at him as she came into the living room and then looked down at Freddie. "iCarly's in two days."

"I know," Freddie answered.

"We need you and Sam not to be homicidal towards each other by then."

"Are you saying that my pride is less important than the show?" Freddie asked.

"Yes!"

Freddie groaned.

"I'm only asking you to accept her apology," Carly said.

"And you can get that?" Freddie asked doubtfully.

"Believe me," Carly said angrily, "By the time I get through with that girl, she'll be apologizing for that soda she spilled over your keyboard last month."

Freddie's mouth dropped. "That was her?"

"Will you? If I get her to apologize?"

Freddie crossed his arms. "Maybe."

Carly sighed. "Please, for me?"

Freddie paused. He glanced over at Spencer. "All right, if you can get her to." He stood up and walked towards the door. Pausing for a moment, he turned back with a smile. "Hey, you know what? A is actually feeling better about the general R situation. A says thank you."

"S says you're welcome," Spencer gave the thumbs up as Freddie left.

"What was that all about?" Carly asked in an amused voice.

Spencer shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea."

--

**AN: **Don't worry if Freddie's whole code letter thing is confusing--it's supposed to be ... for laughs ... ha ha I guess. Anyway, don't worry about who C and D are, they're just two girls I'm saying Freddie met last summer on vacation.

Happy 4th of July tomorrow to all the Yanks out there. And a happy--non-holiday version to everyone else too.


	7. Chapter 7

--

Freddie grimaced slightly as he pushed his cart further down the supermarket aisle, guessing, knowing—Yep. She was there, sitting in the corner of one of the produce sections, absorbed in a heavy looking book. His heart began to beat even faster than it already was as he found his feet almost automatically carrying him forward.

"Hey."

"Shh!" Sam held up a finger without looking up. "Reading!"

Freddie shifted his weight to the other foot. He could still get away, make a run for it and probably— "I can see that."

He watched her frown before slowly looking up at him. "Oh hey, it's the dork who isn't talking to me." There was a minute of silence until she shifted slightly. "So what're you doing here?"

"Just getting some cauliflower and Brussels sprouts for my mom." He paused before giving the safest version of the question he'd been rehearsing, "You come here a lot, don't you?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged.

"I see you here a lot," Freddie pressed.

"Okay …" Sam murmured, "This is getting creepy."

"I'm usually in too much of a rush to talk," Freddie said lamely. "So why do you come here?"

She shrugged again. "It's quiet."

"But don't a lot of people bother you?" he asked.

Sam raised her eyebrows. "This is the broccoli section in an American supermarket."

"Oh … right."

Sam sighed. "Okay, okay, it also smells really nice too. So what do you want? Aren't your undies still in a bunch over the whole _detention _thing?"

"Yeah. A little."

"You'd better see a doctor about getting that fixed," she smirked.

Freddie pulled his cart off to the side of the aisle and leaned against the edge. With a groan, Sam rose and stretched.

"I just want to know why you did it," he said.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, when I've got a quota to meet—"

"Sam."

"Okay," she crossed her arms and looked down, "I don't know. I guess I was just a little upset with you. With how you've been all up in my grill lately."

"Up in your grill?" he asked slowly.

"Don't play dumb, Brussels boy," Sam said, "You've been doing it for weeks. It's all that stuff like not even trying to say something back when I insult you—trying to be all _buddy buddy_ about it. And trying to do all these 'favors' for me." She tilted her head as she mimicked him, "'Oh, don't worry, Sam, I'll run your makeup work into school through the pouring rain; it's no problem, _really._ And don't worry, Sam, I'll pick up some beef sticks for you, it's only a _few_ miles out of the way.'"

"I thought you _liked _taking advantage of me," Freddie said.

"I do," Sam frowned and backed up a little bit, "But enough's enough. It just makes me feel edgy when people do something nice for no reason," she glanced up at him a little, "I guess the whole Pinky thing was just too much."

"So let me get this straight," Freddie said slowly, "You put me in detention because you didn't like me doing something nice for you?"

"Yeah, that's a good way to put it. How did you do that?" she asked. "You make it sound easy."

"Sam, people do nice things for other people when they're friends. That's just what they do."

Sam took on a funny look before snapping indignantly, "I know that! It's just—I guess I thought you were overdoing it, that's all."

"Well, I guess I thought …" Freddie hesitated, "That since things were going … you know, less hostile between us lately, that we were ready to bump our friendship out of the whole teasing thing."

"Yeah, keep dreaming," Sam laughed, and then Freddie followed.

"So …" Freddie opened his arms and raised his eyebrows, "Friends?"

"Only as long as I don't have to touch you," Sam looked down into his shopping cart, "You or your Brussels sprouts."

"Deal," he said as he smiled.

"So … how was detention anyway?" she asked as sensitively as she could. It wasn't as easy as she would've thought; probably from a lack of practice.

"Oh, I didn't have to have one," he answered.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Freddie shrugged. "I just told Principal Franklin what happened and he believed me."

"He believed you over me?" Sam asked, flabbergasted.

Freddie looked around for a moment, as though trying to think of how else it might've happened. "Uh, yeah."

Sam shook her head. "What's this world coming to? Is there no justice?"

Freddie laughed and started to walk away. "So I'll see you in school?"

"Hey," she started hastily, "Are you starving too? Wanna get a smoothie or something? _Your treat_," she said in a sarcastically inviting way.

"Can't," he answered, "I've gotta get this stuff back to my mom."

"Oh. Right. Have fun eating that … great stuff."

He smirked. "Later."

She watched him go and remained motionless for several long seconds. After a moment she distractedly reached over and chewed at the end of a piece of broccoli. But it only took a few bites before she made a face and slammed it into the garbage dispenser as she left.

--


	8. Chapter 8

--

"So let's give a big hand to those Wisconsin Extreme Cow Tippers!" Carly said.

Sam pressed the applause button. "You've gotta love how those boys handle their beef!"

"All right, that should wrap up this segment of iCarly. It's been fun. Tune in next time." Carly smiled.

"Or suffer the consequences." Sam jabbed an overly done menacing expression at the camera and then put her arm around Carly's shoulders as they smiled and leaned in.

"Bye!" they both said together.

"And we're … clear." Freddie put down the camera.

Both Carly and Sam put their arms and smiles down as they stepped away from each other and made disgusted sounds.

"All this confrontational stress is making me hungry," Sam grumbled as she made for the door.

"Oh, like I didn't see that coming," Carly muttered sarcastically. She turned on Freddie as soon as the door had closed behind Sam. "So what's the deal? Why are you two suddenly all hummy chummy?"

Freddie shrugged. "We talked."

"And?"

"And it's cool," Freddie said, "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, that's just wonderful." Carly flopped down onto a beanbag.

"Just be happy that you didn't have to do it."

Carly crossed her arms and pouted. "I'm not ready to be happy." She glared off to the side. "Did you know that she actually accused me that something was going on between us two? You know, like romantically. Ridiculous, huh? I mean—" she turned to find Freddie a bare few inches away, staring at her in an excessively optimistic way. "Ridiculous … _right_?" She repeated as she leaned back in surprise.

Freddie smiled and slowly leaned back into his beanbag, looking up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I guess so."

Carly gave him an odd look. "So I'm up mixed. _I _was supposed to be the one to get her to apologize to _you_."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry …" Carly frowned. "Actually, yes, be sorry. But I want her to be sorry too."

Freddie looked over sideways at her.

"Okay, okay, I know, I know," Carly sighed, "I forgive her—I guess."

"Great, glad that's out of the way." Sam stepped in, drumstick in hand.

Carly turned towards her and raised her eyebrows. "You're evil."

"I muve mou tu," she answered between mouthfuls of poultry.

Carly and Freddie crossed their arms.

Sam swallowed. "All right, and I'm sorry about all that stuff before … Do I really have to apologize for a detention that Freddie didn't even have to go to?"

"_No_," Carly said sarcastically.

"Really?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No!" Carly snapped.

"Okay, okay," Sam continued unenthusiastically, "And I'm sorry about that too, and …" She paused. "Freddie, you haven't noticed anything about your socks, have you?"

"No," Freddie squirmed slightly, "Why?"

"No reason." Sam took another bite of chicken.

"So," Carly clapped her hands, "Everything's back to normal then, right?"

"As long as we're not counting Freddie's footwear," Sam said unconcernedly as she examined her drumstick.

There was a still moment.

Freddie shook his head as he stared up at the ceiling. "Nope, it's not happening. I am _not _going to look." He continued shaking his head in a determined sort of way.

"You're not?" Carly asked, sounding a little dubious.

Freddie made a strangled sound, broke, and tore off his shoes and socks, turning them over in his hands as though they were loaded.

"Sometimes it's just too easy," Sam said with a smirk as she threw away the rest of her drumstick.

Carly leaned back and put her hands behind her head with a smile. "Yup. Everything's back to normal."

"If normal is good, I guess." Sam's eyes flickered off to the side.

Carly sat up suddenly, failing to hold back a warm grin. "There's just one thing missing from this happy little family."

Sam's face fell. "I don't have to apologize to Spencer too, do I?"

"No." Carly whistled.

There were a few faint thumping noises, followed a moment later by Pinky as he happily bounded across the room and into Carly's lap.

"Ah, there's our little snuggly puggsly," Carly cooed in a motherly voice, "Did you miss mummy when she was doing her web show? Didja? Didja?"

Freddie leaned over and scratched at Pinky's belly as the piglet rolled over in Carly's lap. "And did you miss daddy? Did you? Oh, you're such a cute little piggly wiggly—"

"Look out," Sam rolled her eyes and turned away, "I'm going to puke all over both of you."

"You hear that, snookums?" Carly wiggled one of Pinky's ears. "She's just jealous cause the cutest little piglet in the world is on _my_ lap."

"Uh huh," Sam said, "Well you know what? Aunty Sam may not be as nauseating as _mommy_ and _daddy_, but she knows where it's at." She reached around into her back pocket and pulled out a piece of beef jerky. Holding it up in front of her, she adopted an encouraging tone. "Who wants the beef jerky? Who wants it? Pinky does? Yes he does! Come and get it boy!"

Pinky flipped over onto his feet with a snort.

"Be strong, Pinky," Carly whispered into his ear.

"Come on!" Sam began shaking it.

Pinky let out a squeal and promptly switched laps.

Sam smirked over at Carly and Freddie. "Simple as feeding a pig."

Carly and Freddie quietly looked at each other.

Sam began to tickle Pinky's belly as he happily nibbled at the jerky she was dangling over him. "What's that? Who does little Pinky love? Who? _Aunty Sam_? Aww … And who does Aunty Sam love? Her little Pinky?" She nuzzled her face into his snout, "Yes, she does, her little Pinky, who's not going to be little for long. He's going to grow up to be fat and yuuuuummmmmmy—" she punctuated the last word with more vigorous tickling.

Pinky continued to oink happily and obliviously.

Sam looked up and slowed her tickling as Carly and Freddie slowly and simultaneously crossed their arms at her with stony expressions.

She sighed. "Some things never change."

--


	9. Chapter 9

--

"Pickles!" Spencer shouted and threw his hand of cards down onto the Shay's kitchen table. "I fold."

"I would hope so," Sam said sarcastically as she pulled in Spencer's cards and bet, "Because it's a little late for bluffing. And ... speaking of pickles …"

"Oh, all right," Spencer grumbled as he stood up.

"At the rate you're going, you'll be betting things out of the refrigerator soon," Carly said and then laughed when she saw Sam's suddenly hopeful expression. "I'm just kidding. I won't let him go _that_ far."

Spencer dropped a bowl of pickles on the table and Sam adjusted her green dealer's visor as she took a bite of one.

"Not to do the whole, 'what's with you lately' thing again," Carly began, "But what's with you lately? I mean it seems like your appetite is … healthier than usual. And I'm talking _your_ kind of usual."

Sam hesitated for a moment. "I don't know. I guess I've just been worrying more lately."

"Worrying about what?" Carly asked.

"Nothing," Sam shifted in her stool, "So what're you doing? In, out? Got anything good?"

Carly turned her hand around and made a puppy face, "Does one of each suit and a pretty queen count for anything?"

"Not while I'm dealing," Sam smirked as she claimed the rest of the pot.

"Wow," Spencer said as he plopped down in his stool, "How did you get so good at this?"

Sam shrugged. "It's a good way to make detentions profitable." She raised her eyebrows as she began to deal the next hand. "Besides, it's the safest thing to do at family reunions."

There was a knock at the door and Freddie entered with Pinky trotting at his heels. "Hey, whatcha doing?"

"Quick, keep him away," Sam said in an emotionless voice as she eyed up her hand, "While he's still innocent."

"Oh, poker, huh?" Freddie said as he looked over the table.

"That's a nice word for it," Carly grumbled, "Heartless theft might be a little more like it."

Sam glanced over to where Spencer was staring at his hand, as though he might make it better through sheer force of will.

"Mind if you deal me in?" Freddie asked as he took a seat in the fourth stool.

"You know how to play poker," Sam said slowly, not sounding entirely certain that was even possible.

"Sure," Freddie said, "Me and my mom play for matchsticks sometimes."

"Whoa, watch out ladies," Sam shook her head in an exaggerated way as she dealt Freddie in, "We've got a high roller here."

Freddie picked up his cards and sent a confident smirk back at her.

"So you folding?" Sam quickly turned and asked Spencer. Her eyes fell at the state of Spencer's poker face. "It's probably a little too late to bluff—again."

"Is it?" Spencer asked uncertainly.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"I'm not going to bother either," Carly threw in her cards along with his.

Sam composed her face and looked across the table at Freddie. "So the pot's at fifty cents. Your call, Wild Fred."

Freddie reached around into his back pocket. "I'll see that—and raise it to a buck."

Sam visibly straightened. "No cards?"

"No cards," Freddie replied.

Sam fell silent as she wordlessly drew twice, only briefly looking down at them without reaction before looking back up at Freddie. There was a long moment where they stared at each other before Sam threw one of her acquired dollars into the middle. "All right then, I'll raise you another fifty cents."

Freddie already had his money ready. "I'll match and call."

She let a thin smile show. "Kings, three of a kind."

"Fours, one pair." Freddie laughed as he laid down his cards.

A collective breath was released and Spencer and Carly immediately began talking at once.

"Man, I so thought you had her!" Spencer said as he slapped Freddie on the back.

Carly was saying something about perspiration as she likewise congratulated Sam, though the other girl wasn't paying her any attention.

When Sam finally pulled her smile away from the opposite end of the table, she quickly gathered up all the cards and the pot. "Looks like we've got a poker game on our hands."

--

"Ugh," Spencer let his head drop to the table, "Take them, just take them!"

"Don't worry," Sam smiled, "I'll never turn down pork chops."

"Yes, we know." Carly glared over at her.

"What?" Sam said innocently. "They're one of the few things in the world that will never let you down, will always be there for you—"

"—Will always make you fat—" Freddie added.

Sam's eyes narrowed, but she ignored him. "And no," she said just as Spencer tried to start, "I'm not going to accept anymore credit—at this rate I may end up going to college after all."

Spencer made a frustrated sound down into the table. "How much would you take for the TV?"

"Spencer," Carly began tiredly, "Remember our deal?"

Spencer looked off into space for a moment. "The deal that you speak of was a bit vague. A television really isn't an electrical appliance … I believe that would be more like a washing machine." The hopeful look he gave her didn't last long. "So … sweet little sister whom I love dearly—"

"And I'm not giving out anymore loans." Carly cut him off. "Not that I could if I wanted to. This is going to be my last hand."

"Aw," Freddie said from behind his cards, "Do you want something to stay in?" He looked down at his half of the Shay's groceries. "My mom is never going to let me eat mini weenies anyway."

Sam looked up and opened her mouth before shutting it and shaking her head. "Waaay too easy." She looked around the table. "All right, gents, lay 'em."

A moment later and Sam was once again claiming the pot and adding to her sizeable stack of food and spare change.

"Welp, I'm done." Carly prodded at the piglet laying upside down in her lap. "Hey, sleepyhead, momma's out."

Sam regarded her for a moment before she clapped her hands at Pinky encouragingly. "Come on over here, short stuff." Pinky gave a lethargic snort and shifted slightly in Carly's lap. "Aunty Sam's got more beef jerky—_Spencer's treat_," Sam added in an enticing voice.

Pinky gave a squeal and quickly jumped over to Sam's side of the table.

"That's right," Sam put her arm around him as she began dealing the cards to herself and Freddie, "There's my little good luck charm."

"Spencer," Carly said worriedly as her older brother began walking towards the stairs with a lost expression, "Aren't you going to say anything? There's a pig on our table."

Spencer only hesitated somewhat without turning. "The evils of gambling have robbed me of all caring." He added something low under his breath that may have included "spanked" and "little girl."

Carly took on a knowing look. "Going upstairs to take comfort in that box of Twinkies you've got hid?"

Spencer got noticeably straighter. "Would it sound convincing if I said no?"

"I hear Twinkies make for _great_ comfort food," Carly ran to catch up with him, pausing only a moment to look back at Sam and Freddie as if in afterthought. "Behave you two."

And then she was gone and there was only the sound of Pinky finishing his jerky and the clock on the wall. Sam and Freddie shifted awkwardly.

"Maybe we should get some of this frozen stuff back into the freezer," Freddie started tentatively, "I don't know how long it'll take before my chicken starts to melt." He prodded his frozen cube of poultry with a finger.

"Well, let's make a deal then," Sam said slyly, "Let's make this hand worth all the frozen goods. Winner takes them all and we'll put them back into the freezer."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Freddie sat forward in his seat, "You don't have a good enough hand for that."

"What? You think I'm bluffing—like you always do, Benson?" Sam asked. "Or are you just chicken? Chicken to lose your chicken?"

"No, I know you're bluffing." Freddie smirked.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You're not _that_ good at it," Freddie challenged as he leaned over the table.

"Sure I am," Sam shot back defensively as she reflexively leaned back a little, "I can … bluff you any day … Mr. bluffing … Benson—"

"What's that?" Freddie held a hand to his ear. "Is someone stu-stu-stu—"

"I am not," Sam rejoined angrily, "Are you ready? Lay them down."

"Well since you're _apparently_ not bluffing," Freddie continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I don't think you'd mind if we raise it another twenty bucks."

Sam's head twitched a little. "Of course not."

Freddie smiled even wider. "Then you would agree that we may's as well make it another eleven and just go all in."

Sam bit her lip. "I didn't say that."

Freddie fell back into his stool and Sam visibly relaxed, somewhat.

"We couldn't go all in anyway," Sam began, "You don't have nearly as much as I do, your steak is only worth fifteen bucks and—"

"We said eighteen," Freddie corrected casually.

"But still—" Sam tried to reassert herself, "It's not that I wouldn't go all in, it's just it wouldn't be even, with my waffles and—How do you know I'm bluffing?" she suddenly demanded.

"Because you're babbling," Freddie answered smoothly.

"No, Einstein," Sam's eyes narrowed and she seemed to regain some of her composure. "How did you know before?"

Freddie shrugged. "I don't know. I guess you just try too hard when you've got nothing."

"I've got something." She scowled. "I've got two pairs."

Freddie carefully laid his hand down on the table. "Which is nothing compared to-a-_flu-uuush_," he articulated the last word and threw his hands in, "Oh yeah! In—your—face!"

Sam was gathering up the cards quietly. "If you're going to—" she momentarily looked as though she was choking, "—beat me—at least try to do it in a less nerdish way."

"How are you going to live?" Freddie asked, still a little too happy to rise above nerdish-ness as he quickly made the trips to the freezer with his food. "You're not going to be able to eat here for a long time. That is unless you want to … _pleasantly_ ask permission … from me."

Her disgusted expression didn't improve much. "I'd rather kiss a dumpster."

His step hitched slightly before he sat back down in his stool. "It looks like your capital is getting a little low, Puckett."

"Mind your own capital, dork," Sam bit out testily as she grabbed for the cards, "I've got everything under control."

"Well, then," Freddie answered, "You wouldn't be opposed to going all in, would you? Winner takes all."

"Without even seeing the cards first?" Sam asked.

"_Especially_ without seeing the cards first," Freddie answered.

"Oh, you're so on," Sam quickly went to shake his hand, but he held it away for a moment.

"But … it doesn't really seem fair since _I'm _the one with more to lose," Freddie pretended to think for a moment, "Maybe we should lay in something else, just to make it more even and—more humiliating for the loser."

Sam smirked. "This just keeps getting better and better. What do you have in mind?"

Freddie leaned forward, "We both think of something the other person has to do, _anything_, and we don't say it until we lay our cards down."

"Anything?" Sam asked, teetering somewhere between horror and glee.

"Anything." Freddie answered confidently.

"Dork, you've just opened yourself up to a whole new world of embarrassment," Sam said with a smirk as she quickly spit into her hand and shook Freddie's before he could pull away. She leaned back into her stool, twisted her dealer's visor around behind her head and dealt out the cards.

Freddie coughed as he shakily picked up his hand.

"But I've gotta admit," Sam began, "You're not bad at this ... for a dork." She grew quiet. "You said you and your mom play for matchsticks?"

"Yeah, sometimes," Freddie shrugged as he examined his cards, his shoulders relaxing a little, "Usually we do Go Fish after a really big puzzle, but sometimes I can convince her to play this."

Sam was silent for a moment. "You're really lucky, you know that?"

Freddie looked up in surprise, but Sam had already made sure to be engrossed in her cards.

"I'll take one," Freddie said in a little voice, hesitantly looking up at her.

"I guess there's not much point to bluffing," Sam commented as she pushed him a card.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" Freddie asked after a moment. "That I can tell when you're bluffing."

"No," Sam said with a hint of defensiveness, "Well, maybe ... I guess. I just always thought that I was good at it."

"You are."

Sam didn't answer as she drew two cards and slowly pulled her dealer's visor back around in front of her. "Guess that's it. I managed a whole whoppin' pair. What do you have?"

Freddie ignored her. "What were you going to make me do if you won?"

She shrugged. "Streak around the school and into Principle Franklin's office—or something like that. I don't know, I would've thought of something. Something juvenile, I guess. So what do you have?"

Freddie almost looked guilty as he laid down his hand. "Three of a kind."

Sam made as if to swallow, but stayed there for a moment, her face contorting until it began to turn colors.

"Hey, are you all right?" Freddie asked in concern as he leaned across the table, but Sam waved him away.

She finally swallowed and took a shaky breath. "You beat me." She sounded somewhere between accusing and horrified.

"Yup," Freddie said with a large smile.

"You won all of my stuff,"

"Yup." Freddie leaned closer.

"And I have to do whatever you want?"

"Yup." A little closer.

"Right now?" Her expression suddenly reflected that she'd realized just how close he'd gotten.

"_Yup_." It was a slightly cockier iteration of the word.

"What—"

And with something not bearing all that much difference from a lunge, Freddie tipped forward the rest of the way towards her and brought his mouth to hers hard enough to force her backwards.

Everything seemed to freeze at once, as though they were both afraid of moving, or falling off the table, which was a very real possibility considering the way Freddie was precariously perched.

Sam's eyes weren't still, however. They rapidly moved around the room, as though trying to find the best route of escape. But they eventually came back to Freddie's, which were clenched tightly shut, as though he was concentrating on tasting something. She slowly pulled back enough so that they could both breathe.

"_That?"_ Sam gasped as quietly as she could manage. Neither of them probably could've stopped grinning so recklessly if they had wanted to. "_That_ was what you wanted me to do?"

"Yup."

The grins stopped for a moment.

Freddie made a small sound as he leaned in, reaching with one hand to tip her dealer's visor up so that he could get closer. And when he did there was no hesitation as he sought her out, even as she shrank back slightly, almost shyly.

But things on both ends didn't stay shy for long, and soon there was movement of all sorts as they tumbled into each other, a mess of hands and sounds. For a moment it looked as if they were having a touching contest. In either case, it was enough to make an abruptly forgotten Pinky seek lower elevations underneath the table.

Sam and Freddie were somewhere in the middle of trying to get Sam's knee up on the tabletop and the top half of Freddie down and off to the side to accommodate her increasingly opposite-of-shy movements when one limb or another slipped. It didn't really matter which one, since they were both more than adequately tangled up in each other to lose the entire balance of their sophisticated position.

With a pair of short yelps they landed on the floor, with Sam ending up relatively more or less on top of Freddie, if going by bodily percentages.

There was a moment of hard breathing.

"First real kiss, huh?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"Yup," Freddie managed, somewhere in the past minute having lost all cockiness in favor of a more disheveled, disconcerted, but excessively happy countenance.

There was only a short pause before they were laughing at that. And after another pause that wasn't much longer they resumed, though they pulled apart as Pinky finally came over to investigate. They reached over to pet him warmly, though it seemed like they weren't able to look away from each other as they continued to laugh.

"So ..." Sam said, striving for a nonchalant tone, "Does this mean Carly still gets to be mommy?"

* * *

Carly walked back into the room, looking slightly lost as she plopped down into a beanbag. Spencer paid her no heed as he continued to delicately select his next Twinkie.

"I guess I should've seen it coming," Carly said, not sounding very convinced about that.

"Oh, it wasn't all that hard," Spencer said casually as he leaned his head back and dropped another Twinkie into his mouth.

"You saw it coming?" Carly asked, sounding doubtful but also a little surprised.

"Sure," Spencer said with a sure tone and smile as he put his arms behind his head. "It was all just a simple matter of algebra."

--End--

Welp, I want to thank everyone for all the great reviews. It's been a lot of fun writing this, though I think I probably should've worked on this last chapter a little more. I was seriously thinking about splitting it up, but I think it works better as it is.

Also, if there's any small/obvious mistakes in the whole poker thing I apologize ahead of time.

And lastly, I'm not quite sure if it's made obvious enough that Sam won't end up eating Pinky, but don't worry, she won't.

It's been fun.


End file.
